


Where’d You Get Them Scars?

by Ol_Dirty_Sock



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ol_Dirty_Sock/pseuds/Ol_Dirty_Sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeordie and Brian hang out in the basement because they’re super cool guys like that. Things get sad but there’s a silver lining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where’d You Get Them Scars?

**Author's Note:**

> Spooky Kids era. Just some ridiculous cheesy fluff I wrote cause I was feeling a bit down. Totally fictional, depiction is not endorsement, etc.

Jeordie sank down in his seat and took a swig from the stolen beer that was rapidly growing warm in his hand. They were hanging out in the basement of Brian’s house, grateful for the ancient AC unit shoved into the narrow window, even as it stuttered to start up and then made fitful noises that sounded like it was going to explode any minute. Rehearsal went overly long and it was a particularly humid day even for Florida. Brian was sweaty under his black, long-sleeved shirt, and casually whipped it off.

“Jesus,” said Jeordie, inhaling sharply. Brian’s chest and arms were a patchwork of scars and cuts, some pale and faded, some fresh and still pink.

“He’s not here,” Brian joked lamely. It didn’t help. Jeordie’s heart felt heavy and his stomach clenched up in knots. 

He tried to calm his breath and hoped his face didn’t look too drained. “Who did this to you?” he asked. Brian’s parents had seemed a bit weird the couple times he’d briefly talked to them, but nothing hinted at them abusing him.

“Who do you think?” said Brian, oddly calm. Jeordie looked at him with a blank expression. This was the worst trick question ever. “It was me,” he said, tilting his head forward and making a fucking- _duh_ motion with his hands. “So stop worrying. Nobody’s out to get me.”

“I still don’t like it,” said Jeordie, as Brian sat down next to him on the hideous old couch. It creaked as he settled into the cushions. He put his hand on Brian’s shoulder, unsure what else to do. Brian clearly had more distress than he could handle and Jeordie didn’t want to give him any more, but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries trying to comfort him either. He just wanted Brian to know he was there for him and wasn’t going to judge him, but didn’t know how to put it into words without sounding pat and hollow, like some cheesy after-school special.

Brian didn’t seem to mind the touch. After a few moments he turned to Jeordie and sighed through his teeth as his lips curled up into a hint of a snarl. “I have another confession,” he said. “This one’s worse. You might not be so easygoing this time around.”

Jeordie frowned. What could possibly be more upsetting than what he’d just revealed? “What...what is it?” he asked. His voice came out jittery and a little too quiet.

“Close your eyes,” said Brian.

Jeordie didn’t like the sound of that. He blinked and jolted back.

“Just close them,” Brian insisted, more forcefully. There was something desperate in the edge of his voice that let Jeordie know he’d better do it, or Brian might suffer more from whatever was eating him up inside. He did as Brian said, bracing for the unknown.

After the longest four seconds of his life, Jeordie’s heart jumped when he felt Brian’s lips pressed against his own. Jeordie opened his mouth without thinking. Brian’s tongue slipped in and explored. Jeordie’s chest began pounding and he felt as if he could melt. _Oh Jesus, oh fuck..._

Brian drew back, breathing heavily and staring at Jeordie with wide, defiant eyes as if waiting for him to strike back in disgust.

Instead he leaned back in and returned the favor. Brain let out a surprised _huh_ that was quickly stifled by Jeordie’s mouth devouring his. He grabbed the back of Jeordie’s head and wrapped his other arm around his shoulders. Jeordie embraced Brian’s bony waist and squeezed.

Jeordie had been struck in the heart by Brian since the day they’d met by chance in the record store, from his long slender legs to his charmingly unusual face. He never thought it had a snowball's chance in hell of becoming anything more than a fantasy he buried deep inside. 

Their tongues darted and twirled around until it was hard to breathe. Brian released Jeordie’s mouth with a wet popping noise, and planted a kiss on his forehead, soft and damp. His lip ring bumped against Jeordie’s skin as he nudged in to kiss the side of his face, and his nose pressed in to his cheek. It was dizzying having Brian so close, skin to skin and pulse to pulse, as if they could merge into one bizarre skinny pale creature if only they wanted it badly enough.

A moan rose from his throat and he nuzzled into Brian’s neck. His skin was sticky with sweat and that ludicrously long hair of his got in the way. Jeordie didn’t care. He grinned when Brian shifted around and pulled him into his lap, one arm slung over his back. 

Jeordie traced his fingertip along a slightly curved scar on Brian’s chest. Brian twitched but calmed down when Jeordie looked up into his eyes, still smiling. “It doesn’t matter...I...all of you,” he mumbled.

Brian stroked his thigh. Jeordie wasn’t sure if it was an invitation. “I don’t know if I’m up for...” he trailed off. Despite the relief he felt and fun they were having and the tingling warmth pooling between his legs, he was still rattled by the thought of Brian hurting himself.

“Let me hold you. That’s all I really want right now,” Brian said, his voice gone uncharacteristically quiet and soft. Fine by Jeordie.

The sun finally showed some mercy and dipped into the void beyond the horizon. Jeordie chugged the remains of his room-temperature beer and they snuggled together in the glow of the TV. Brian laughed when the shitty B-movie playing reused the same stock footage of a car crashing three times. Jeordie played with Brian’s hair, twiddling a strand of it into a messy twist like his own.

They were fuckups. They weren’t as straight as they’d thought. Their stupid band probably wouldn’t ever be more than a local underground act. But somehow, crawling through the swamp like lost animals, they had found something to cling to in each other. For now, that was enough.


End file.
